


Unsteady

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Past minor character death, Slow Dancing, implied PTSD, implied suicide, thorin's sad history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5744728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Still he could remember a time when the beat had been weak, fluttering, erratic, like a candle flame before a winter wind, and icy pain had dug cruel talons into his chest, the world had been empty and he had been alone.</em>
</p><p>What keeps Thorin steady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsteady

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and written at three am, so there are bound to be mistakes. Poke me if you see one and I'll fix 'em up.

Thorin let out an unsteady breath and felt it stir Bilbo’s brown curls, the soft locks brushing against his nose. He gripped the smaller man’s waist tightly, feeling his warmth seep through his rough palms and up his veins, seeping to his strongly beating heart. Still he could remember a time when the beat had been weak, fluttering, erratic, like a candle flame before a winter wind, and icy pain had dug cruel talons into his chest, the world had been empty and he had been alone.

He felt a phantom of the pain stir and his breath hitched with the memory of crushing fear. In response Bilbo’s arms wrapped securely around his back, strong hands curling around his shoulders, clever fingers digging into his simple white shirt. The smaller man didn’t say a word, simply buried his face into Thorin’s chest and began to hum, his low voice blending with the song wreathing about them in a beautifully bittersweet melody. Thorin knew that his touch was the only thing keeping him standing, lending warmth and strength to his unsteady legs. The two swayed carefully along the dance floor, despite all appearances the smaller, unassuming man keeping the taller on his feet.

Thorin closed his eyes and saw the empty windows of his old home, gaping like breathless screams, faded and colourless beneath the grey skies, a dull background to vibrant flames and inky smoke. He nosed into Bilbo’s curls and breathed in his honey and thyme, banishing the acrid tang of ash. Bilbo steered him gently in a rhythmic circle, rocking and slow, the ground thrumming with the singer’s wistful voice; there was a world about them but it was forgotten as easily as they held each other, as they shared breaths and scents and heartbeats.

He could see his mother, wan but smiling from the hospital bed, felt the cool press of air conditioning against his neck. The skin prickled and he shuddered, before Bilbo’s hand slid up to cover it with his own brand of unstoppable warmth, steadying him once more. Thorin pressed his bearded cheek to Bilbo’s temple and brushed his lips to the oddly pointed ear, feeling Bilbo’s quick smile against his collarbone.

The singer’s voice rose to a chilling note and Thorin thought he heard the echo of empty memories through a long-dead house, laughter and singing and an old music box drifting past burnt walls and torn carpets as his father pressed a hand to a picture of his youngest son, his fingers coming away black with ash. Thorin stumbled, his unsteady feet missing the beat, and Bilbo kept him along with the pure strength of his arms, an unbreakable spark in the night.

A woman’s soft voice murmured in his ear, disjointed and bodiless, a clinging memory from another time. His mother had been the last one left, so weak, tired, sick, sick of being alone aside for a son who was not truly there. Thorin’s father had been alive but he had given up, abandoned the fight to fly instead.

Thorin’s head dropped with remembered despair and fingers came up to tangle with his hair, a warm cheek brushing against his, lips against his ear, a steady voice to replace the ghostly whispers. The piano became the movement of his body, the singer’s voice his thoughts, Bilbo’s his heartbeat, fuelling it with warmth, keeping its beat strong and steady.

At last Thorin felt the unsteadiness of the memories bleed out of his shoulders, from his lungs and legs and mind and heart, and he brushed his nose along Bilbo’s cheek, his thumbs stroking through his collared shirt to the warmth of the skin below. The singer gave a last refrain and the song ended; yet there was no silence, instead the melody continued in Bilbo’s soft breaths and the rustle of his clothes and the arms wrapping about his neck, the brown eyes meeting his own with unwavering steadiness.

‘Are you alright?’ Bilbo murmured, his thumb stroking the nape of the taller man’s neck. The song was over, the band finished, the other dancers filtering off the floor, but he kept his gaze on the only thing that had ever mattered.

‘I’m fine,’ Thorin replied. His mouth curved into a soft smile as he pressed his forehead to his husband’s, warmth rushing through every vein of his body. ‘Just a little unsteady.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick little thing that popped up while listening to 'Unsteady' by X Ambassadors, which I really recommend listening to. It's a beautiful song.
> 
> Please drop in a comment and tell me what you think! :)


End file.
